Unknotted
by springfieldbluebird
Summary: ONE-Shot: Hera gets into a little trouble and Kanan has to save her. This was my first idea for the REBELS! Fanzine, but I decided to write a different story for that so had this one hanging around. Enjoy.


**Hi, everyone. As you know, I'm one of the writers for the REBELS! Fanzine that's coming out in October. This was my FIRST piece (I ultimately rejected it for one reason or another and wrote a different one). In case anyone's looking to get one, the deadline is the last day of September. If you need the ordering site go to The Wookie Gunner because they have a link to the orders. Anyway, this is not that special, but since I wrote it and I'm not planning on using it anywhere, I thought you might enjoy it while you wait for another chapter of Not to Yield 2 or Broken. I promise I'm working, it's just hard going right now. (so hard!) Hopefully I'll have something for you SOON!**

* * *

"Unknotted"

Hera came out of her quarters, rubbing one eye and yawning as she passed Chopper in the hall. "Hey Chop. Did our wayward crewman show up last night?"

Chopper replied that KananJarrus was currently passed out drunk in the cargo bay.

"Well, I'll put on the caf. He'll need it." Hera frowned as she made her way to the caf machine and began to fill it with the strong Spiran caf that she and Kanan liked.

Her crewman had been having a hard time the past week, Hera reflected as the machine sputtered and hummed. They'd been living on the _Ghost_ together about a year, and in that time, she'd never had a second thought about her decision to take him on board. He was a hard worker and good shot in the _Ghost's_ turret, when the need arose. They'd had a few Imperial entanglements, but with her flying skills and his ability at the guns, they had always gotten away unscathed.

He was interesting when he was sober. Kanan had travelled widely and had an endless supply of humorous stories. He had been a bartender and a bouncer, among many other jobs. He had a million bad pick-up lines that he'd learned and for a while, he'd run them on her as a sort of joke for the first six months. And now it had been a year that he'd been helping her run jobs to keep the _Ghost_ aloft so they could strike against the Empire when Fulcrum handed them a mission. She knew their raids did little in the larger scheme of things, but out in the Outer Rim, she knew she could make a small difference on remote planets like Garel and Lothal. Kanan didn't seem to care about hurting the Empire; he just wanted to be there to keep her breathing, as he often told her.

She and Kanan worked well together, better than she'd ever worked with anyone, but there'd always been that feeling that Kanan wouldn't stay long—a fear that one moment, she'd wake up and find him gone. She was bewildered he'd stayed with her up until now…he certainly seemed like the itinerant type. As far as she could measure it, he never stayed anywhere past three months. She'd fully expected him to take off from her ship once he'd saved up a supply of credits. She was surprised to find that she'd miss him terribly if he were to leave.

And now, the Kanan of this past week was a far cry from the intelligent, quick-witted, up-for-anything crewmember that she'd taken on. He had been quiet and preoccupied during the days and absent at nights. It was on the second night that she realized he was disappearing to go drinking again. She'd been in the cockpit, running one of the many routine diagnostics that kept the _Ghost_ in tip-top shape when Kanan had come in. He had stumbled onto the upper level, and after banging around in the hallway a minute and trying to get into the wrong room, he'd found his own.

He'd not seen her; she was in the semi-darkness of the cockpit and saw him with an extra bottle of the local rocket fuel. On the third try, he'd unlocked the door and entered while muttering and cursing at it. Then, a few moments later, she'd heard a large thump, which she assumed was his collapse on the bed.

The next day, he'd been hung over a bit, but as she flew them to Bendeluum, he'd been almost hypervigilant, insisting that he take the turret while they flew though such a dangerous area. That night he hadn't left the ship, but he'd turned in early. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of a lack of sleep.

Then last night, he'd gotten shitfaced again at some cantina somewhere. Hera didn't know where he'd been, he'd disappeared soon after they'd docked. They were on Vulpter, in the Core, which meant only the Force knew what he'd been drinking. This place was so polluted that it was poisonous to be here for very long.

And she didn't plan to be. Whatever this was, it plaguing him was beyond his usual nights out. He was drinking as if he were trying to obliterate himself.

Hera drank half of her first cup before her vague worries crested and sent her in search of Kanan. Before she went out, she pulled on a fresh flight suit, boots and cap, then she entered the cargo bay and slid down the ladder.

Kanan was laid out on the deck, his face partially hidden by his loose and messy hair. His clothes were rumpled and she saw that one of his fists was cut and bloody.

She knelt beside him and watched him a moment. Was he trying to get her to kick him off the ship due to some strange self-destructive impulse? What was he struggling with? Every time she thought she had him figured out, he proved to her that Kanan Jarrus had as many sides as a sarlacc had teeth.

"Hey…you…" She reached out and brushed the strands of his thick hair back from his face. He'd obviously been fighting. His forehead bore a cut on the right side and there was a spreading bruise under his eye.

She tried again. "Kanan?"

There was a moan this time. Then his eyelids fluttered and she saw his teal irises fix on the floor right in front of his eyes.

"Kanan. You need to get up from the floor and head to bed." She shook him a little and he groaned and moved to a sitting position. She could tell by his glassy eyes that he was still drunk. Talking things over in this state would do nothing but cause an argument. "Head to your quarters and sober up. I'll come check on you in a bit."

She wasn't sure he was comprehending what she said until he nodded. "Hera...'m sorry." He shook his head, and looked away as he got to his feet. She steadied him with her hand.

"I'm not mad. We'll talk later, Kanan…when you're clearheaded."

He made his way to the ladder by himself and began climbing to the upper deck. Somehow, he made it to the top, after losing his step twice, and she watched him disappear, hopefully into his quarters to get some sleep.

She would pick up their shipment, jump to hyperspace and confront him. Being in hyperspace would give him no where to run, but she didn't feel bad about setting him up that way.

She was determined to get to the bottom of what was bothering him, no matter what lengths she had to go to. And maybe, just maybe, she could hold onto this enigma of a crewmate.

* * *

Hera signed the datapad for the shipment going to Garel. Her eyes flashed defiantly at the human eyeballing her. When she'd felt his hand brush her backside, she'd turned, eyes flashing, when the static sound of a comm made him stiffen and turn. He took the datapad back, muttered something and left as two stormtroopers entered the spaceport bay.

"Great Bantha, what now?" she muttered under her breath. She grabbed her own datapad and pulled up her 'papers,' telling herself this was probably just a routine check. At least that's what she hoped.

"Citizen. Papers please," the taller one addressed her as the two officers strode right up the ramp. Hera confidently provided her false identification, provided by her contact Fulcrum. It would hold up under most Imperial scrutiny. "We are looking for this man." He showed her a small holo from a security feed. It was obviously Kanan, from last night. "Do you have such a person on your ship?"

They were looming over her now, but she told herself not to be intimidated. "No, I'm sorry, I don't."

The smaller buckethead pulled up the footage of Kanan, throwing punches at a Rodian in a cantina fight. She watched while he picked the being up and threw him over the bar. The other combatant landed in a way that broke several bottles and cracked the mirror behind them. She turned, a confident look on her face. "Nope. I'd remember seeing someone like that."

The taller trooper grabbed her painfully by a lek and turned her back to the holo. "Look again, tailhead. They're always so stupid," the trooper muttered to his fellow soldier.

"Yeah, or they're liars," his compatriot replied.

"I'm telling you the truth," Hera desperately kept the anger out of her voice, trying to work her gun hand around to her holster. "I haven't seen-" The trooper holding her had realized she was going for her gun and he grabbed her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back.

"Search the ship." The tall trooper said as he slammed Hera down to the deck so hard everything grayed out.

* * *

Kanan came awake as soon as he felt the slivers of unease from Hera. He opened his eyes and looked blearily around his room. It was darkened, and he was laying across his bunk, dressed in black combat pants. Well, at least he was dressed in something. Was it day or night? He could barely remember, but thought it was probably closer to early morning because he was still hammered from last night's binge.

He stretched his senses out and felt Hera and her client down below in the Force. Hera was irritated with something. As he sat up, he ran his hands through his hair absently, his mind down below.

Then he felt a sharp spike of genuine worry from Hera. One word was all he had to pick up on before he was on his feet and moving.

 _Stormtroopers._

He edged to the doorway to the upper level of the cargo bay. He could feel them in the Force, smug, superior, and too sure of themselves.

They asked Hera if she knew a man, and the former Jedi realized what must have happened. He'd fought with a Rodian in the bar, most likely destroying some property, and somehow he'd been tracked back to the spaceport. Karking hell. He began to use the Force to push off the inebriation that he was still experiencing. He needed to be clear-headed for this. He crept down the hallway.

"Look again, tailhead…" he lost part of the conversation as he strained to hear.

"No…I haven't seen—" There was a pained note to Hera's denial, and then Kanan was moving. He leaped over the balcony and landed between the two men. Hera was motionless on the floor, and for a moment, Kanan was transported back to a dusty battlefield where another woman he loved lay motionless on the ground. In his mind, there was a high unwavering static, like the sound of an open comm, and he simply **reacted** without conscious thought.

 _Not again, not again, not again._

 **Good soldiers follow orders.**

 **Good soldiers follow orders.**

 **Good soldiers follow…**

Words from the past echoed in his head like an insane chant, their empty, plastoid eyes looking at him, Kanan threw his hands out, using the Force to sweep one of the bucketheads down the ramp of the cargo bay to land outside the ship. The other trooper swung his gun and smashed the side of Kanan's head, but Kanan moved with the blow, spun around and the trooper flew through the air to join the other one outside the ship.

Kanan made a quick gesture and the ramp began to raise. "Chop. Raise shields and get us out of here, now."

He felt the shuddering of the Ghost's engine as that stubborn astromech for once, thank the Force, followed directions for the first time and lifted off. Kanan felt like his chest was about to explode; he couldn't breathe and his hands were shaking as he knelt beside the green Twi'lek. He knew he was suffering from a full-on panic attack. He'd had a few of them throughout the years, but this one was by far the worst. His breath wheezed in his chest as his shaking hand reached for her.

"Hera. _Please_ ," he pleaded. He placed his fingers on her neck, not too far from her ear cone, so he could check for a pulse.

It was strong under his fingers and he let out a sigh of relief as she began to stir.

She groaned, "Kanan?"

"Yeah. Don't get up too quickly." He said, still struggling with his panic. He tried to focus on her, and the fact that she was alright. His touch drifted to her shoulder. "Chop. Any signs of pursuit?"

The droid affirmed that according to Imperial comm traffic, TIEs were being scrambled.

Hera touched her own wrist comm. "Chopper," she groaned, "switch the Ghost's signature, then jump to hyperspace. Don't care where, just get us out of here."

"I'll go up." Kanan said.

"We'll go up together." Hera said.

They climbed the ladder, Kanan underneath so he could catch Hera if she slipped, but they both made it without incident.

Kanan slid into the co-pilot's seat, instead of the turret, but there was no need for the guns. They slipped into hyperspace as easy as flatclakes.

Once they were safe, it was hard to let his hold on the Force loosen. He was holding it so tightly that the place in his mind where it resided ached. He'd pulled hard on his connection with the Force in desperation and now he was paying the price. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on relaxing. The Force thrummed through every part of him, causing him to tremble.

"You okay?" Hera asked.

Kanan nodded, finally feeling the energy he'd gathered begin to dissipate. "You?" He asked, looking over to her. The finger-shaped welts rising on her lekku were turning dark as the bruises took shape. He felt another burst of anger, first at the troopers, then at himself. He caused it; he might as well look at it, he thought as he forced himself to stay focused, a sort of penance for his stupidity.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Yeah, and I'm getting the medkit. Come on, the galley has better light."

A few minutes later, Hera had dabbed some bacta on Kanan's head. Now, he was working on the cut on her other lek, a singular focus in his blue-green eyes. She watched for long moments, feeling the fine trembling in his careful hands.

"Kanan?" she murmured.

His eyes brushed her gaze as he raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"What's going on with you?" she asked simply.

He lowered his head for a moment, a tone in his voice that sounded both like warning and pleading at the same time. "Hera…"

"Don't lie to me, love. Something's really wrong with you…this past week, you've not been yourself." She turned to catch his eyes. "I care about you."

He began talking as his fingers bandaged her lek very gently. "This week's been…rough." He paused, his voice hoarse. "You know…about the…I mean about me…who I was before the Empire?"

Suddenly, she was transported to Vidian's ship, and how he'd saved her life. _Don't tell anyone_ , he'd said. She'd followed his wishes, and neither one had mentioned it again. Until now. "Yeah. You mean the Force…" Even though he'd brought it up, she had trouble saying the word _Jedi_.

He nodded, his distracting touch finally falling away from her lek as the bandaging was done. "I suppose I should just tell you." He looked down at his hands. "I was a Jedi Padawan when the end of the Jedi Order came. M-my…" The words seemed to stick in his throat, and despite the fact his mouth worked, nothing came out. The black sorrow that he'd held at bay the whole week began to crash in on him like a tsunami.

She waited as he gathered himself. Finally, she urged him on gently. "Go on…"

"Hera…I can't." His voice was anguished as he bowed his head, eyes closed tightly.

"Kanan…this is eating you from the inside out." She turned in her seat and reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "You have to get it out in the open. So you can heal."

He shied away, getting up and putting distance between them. He stopped when he reached the far wall. He laid his forehead against it. "I can't." He balled his fist and pounded it against the bulkhead, feeling the pain as his already-busted knuckles opened again against the metal. "I can't."

Hera startled at the sound. "Kanan, love."

There was a soft strangled noise of sorrow, as Kanan let his hand fall and turned toward his cabin again. "Don't think I'm a good person because I'm not, Hera," and he was gone into his quarters.

* * *

She waited a few hours, giving him his space, then she knocked softly on his door, bringing some bacta and bandages. She waited long enough for him to pull himself back together, then she slid the door open, not looking in at first, in case he wasn't dressed.

But he was. Kanan was sitting in the dark, on the floor with his back up against the drawer underneath his bunk. He was still drunk, turning up a bottle of jet juice (so strong she could smell it from the door) and taking a large belt of the amber liquid. "I'd say sorry, but I can't 'cause it would be a lie," he slurred. She heard the touch of a different accent coming through his words, but she couldn't place it. Kanan had always had an Outer Rim drawl, but this was something else.

"I appreciate your honesty. I came to fix up your hand." She murmured, waving the tub of bacta and adhesive bandages. She came over to sit near him. "Mind sharing?"

He raised an eyebrow but offered her the bottle, watching her appraisingly.

It was awful, burning as it went down. She took another big mouthful and it went down a touch easier that time—she only coughed a little. The alcohol hit her brain quickly, fuzzing her thoughts a bit.

She handed him back the liquor and moved to clean and bandage his knuckles. "How do you drink this hooch?" she grimaced with another cough.

"Quickly and in large quantities." Kanan laughed, tossing another shot's worth of liquor back. When she was done, he examined the bandages with a critical eye. They were as good as any Jedi-field dressing.

"Frack me." Hera said, looking at him and realizing something. It was a Coruscanti accent he had. Of course. He would have grown up in the Jedi temple. Her heart twisted in spasms for him, but she knew it would only push him away again to mention it. She grabbed the bottle and took two more swallows before handing it back.

Kanan was watching her appreciatively. Unlike the client earlier, however, his gaze was one of admiration, not a leer. "Karking hells, you're beautiful. You know that, right?"

She smirked. "I've heard it before. Usually from drunk men in bars who have overly-friendly hands."

"Oh." He grimaced a little. "Well, you don't have to take any of that banthashit anymore, Hera Syndulla. Not on my watch." He raised an eyebrow and looked into her eyes fiercely. "I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you again. Not ever."

She laughed softly. "So, you're not leaving my ship, then?"

"You want me to go?" He looked crestfallen. "You want me to go." This time it was a statement, and he closed his eyes, looking away.

"No. NO!" Instead of sitting beside him, she turned so that they were facing each other. She took his hand. "No, love. I've…I've been afraid you would leave for a while now, and I…I really don't want you to."

He looked up in surprise, his eyes wide at her admisssion. "Oh." He twisted a hand into hers and looked down at it. After a few moments, he spoke in a hesitating voice, "Tonight's a bad one for me…but when it's over, I'll be better, Hera. I swear to Force."

"What is tonight?" She raised an eyebrow, then she realized what the horrible anniversary meant. It had been on the holonet all day. "Oh, Kanan."

"She d-died. My Jedi m-master." He said in a hesitant whisper. "Nine years ago, t-today."

"I'm sorry." Understanding everything at once, she hugged him. "I…I didn't realize."

He shook his head, feeling something unknotting inside of him at her gentle touch. "I never told anyone…before. There's more, but…not tonight," he shook his head, words failing him.

"Take your time," she said gently, sliding around to sit beside him. She could feel the warmth of his body next to her own, and tried not to let it cause her heart to pound. "When you're ready, I'll be here."


End file.
